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WHEN SKIES ARE GRAY 



WHEN SKIES ARE GRAY 



With a Rift or Two 



VERSES 



By 

Clarence Watt H e a z 1 i 1 1 




New York and Washington 
THE NEALE PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1909 






Copyright, 1909, by 
Clarence Watt Heazlitt 



LiBRASY of CONGRESS 
Two GooK's Received 

APR 12 \m 

^ Copyri*.ni tntry _ 
cUsS fl^ ^Xc< No, 

2.Z S 555 



"Let tin poet, intent or small, 
Say that lie iri/I siri<^ a sons^r; 

SoiifT conu'tii, if at all, 

Not he cause ice ivoo it lona^." 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Compensation 1 1 

A Master of Dreams 12 

Companions 13 

Till Break of Day 14 

What the Raven Said 15 

Beauty of Earth 16 

Purple and Gold 17 

Earth's Child 18 

Hope for the Past 19 

To a Rejected Manuscript 21 

The Stars of God 23 

I A Traveller's Tale 24 

A Reminiscence 29 

Out of the Depths 30 

Metamorphosis 31 

Strange Fire 32 

Dirge 33 

Lines suggested by a Stormy New Year's Eve 34 

Spiritus 35 

Poe in Defeat 36 

The Apostate's Revert', 37 

The Toad at the Ear 38 



PAGE 

Not Alone 39 

O Absalom ! 40 

"It was Night" 41 

Peace and Death 42 

"To Him that Overcometh" 43 

Written on a Fly-leaf 45 

A Hard Man 46 

Summer Rest 47 

The Jockey's Funeral 48 

The Missing Reporter 49 

After Life's Fever 50 



COMPENSATION 

Out of the west a golden ray, 

After the clay of storm ; 
After the hleak and dreaiT day, 
A glory of light on the troubled sea, — 
The heaving, moaning, tossing sea; 
While softly, as with promise of rest, 
A gentle wind blows out of the west, — 
Out of the purple and slumbrous west, 

After the day of storm. 

Down from the throne a peaceful ray, 

After the day of pain ; 
After the tense and cheerless day, 
Light from above for tlie troubled soul, — 
The spirit vexed by wild alarms; 
For the utterly weary and fainting soul, 
Hie thrill of the everlasting arm% 

After the day of pain. 



(lO 



A MASTER OF DREAMS 

DeQuincey, prince of dreamers! through whose 

brain 
In sleep the subtle power of genius wrought 
Strange fancies, yet with gloom and grandeur 

fraught. 
High-towered and mighty cities wax and wane 
Through ages dark with sorrow, loss and pain ; 
Rich temples, tombs, cathedrals, like to nought 
On earth, rise cloudward, — shrines by pilgrims 

sought 
In caravans o'er the dim and boundless plain; 
Vast and spectral avenues of gloom 
Conduct to distant gateways, massive, draped 
With black, — each closed and towering portal seems 
A bar to hope. Anon through vistas loom 
Seas of faces as from doom escaped, — 
And night with white persistent faces gleams. 



(iz) 



COMPANIONS 

Two figures un a silent ruad 

Went slowly on to;j;cthci"; 
'Twas near the utmost bound of life, 

And bleak and cold the weather; 
The face of one was stern and hard, 

Sad-faced and bowed his brother;— 
One figure gray was Selfishness, 

And Loneliness the other. 



:i3) 



TILL BREAK OF DAY 

An ancient stor}^ tells in mystic phrase 
Of one who wrestled all night long 
With strange antagonist, until, as day's 
Gray dawn appeared, he felt his soul grow strung 
While foe transformed to angel speaking praise. 
Blessing bestowed, and power to vanquisli w rong. 
So may I through the long, long night strive on, 
Nor faint, until the day eternal dawn. 



(14) 



WHAT THE RAVEN SAID 

Joyest thou in sunny light, 

Depths of azure, world of air? 

Richer beauty hath the night, — 
Starry castles, thou mayest share. 

Dwells thy soul where seems to rise 
Far and radiant, height on height? 
Airy vision ! from thine eyes 

Night will hide it — kindly Night. 

What if meets a holy gaze 

Brow of childhood, eyes of pra\er? 
Joys of Night arc more than Day's,- 

Richcr, and with less of care. 

Lofty thoughts doth Da\' inspire, — 
Longings, strivings for the right? 

Night is better, — these but tire; 
Rest thee in the arms of Night. 



(15) 



BEAUTY OF EARTH 

Of the azure of flowers are the beautitul eyes,- 
Nought of the sky in them, nought of the sea. 

Pale on the temples soul radiance dies ; — 

Fashioned from eartli mouUl, as lilies may be. 

Nought from above in the beautiful face; 

Nought of the spirit, — no hea\enly ray; 
No halo of prayer nor largess of grace; — 

Beautiful, only, — beautiful clay! 



(i6) 



IH Rl'LK AM) C^Ol.l) 

Sun-paiiUcd clusters, fresh from tlic mould. 
Royal with purple ami splendid \\ith ?:old, — 
Dandelions, violets, fresh from earth's mould! 

When sunshine ot Apiil is hlessinix the worhl, 
Their sweet flower faces upward they raise, 
H\ doorstep of cottage, on ;i;rass-;irow-n ways, 
When sunshine of April is HooiliiiLj; the world. 

Secrets ot kindliness hrin;j: they to me, — 

"He humhle and kindly, if threat thou wouhist he; 

'Tis the cheerful and lowly that earth holdeth 

dear." — 
And my soul is enricheil w ith izohl of j;ood cheer. 



(17) 



EARTH'S CHILD 

Passion-wearied and passion-pale, 
Never for me can thy soothing fail. 
I am thine own, of thee am I, — 
Thine own child on thy breast would lie. 
Calm from thy calm and rest from thy rest 
Wholly do satisfy, thus on thy breast. 
In the long grass at my head and my feet 
Chirping of crickets is low and sweet; 
Dreamlike echoes of children at play 
Float on the air from the edge of day ; 
Pallid stars through the fading light 
Breathe me no message of wrong anil right. 
Mother, thou givest me peace for moan, 
Comforting thus thine own, thine own! 



(i8) 



11 on: FOR THK PAST 

1 '^'dze to-ni^ht on twenty years, 

That reach In dim perspective far 

To fields beneath the morning star, — 
The world of boyish hopes and fears. 
And there is dimness on my sight, 

For there's so mucli of sad and strange, — 

So weird the witchery of change, 
In twenty years fulfilled to-night. 

A\, change is weird, — though as of old 

Arc street and lane and field and wood. 

As when F\e often, musing, stood 
And viewcil them batheil in gray or gold. 
Still winter traces frost>' rune. 

And springtide smiles and murmurs still; 

Anil somber afternoons and chill 
Still follow on the nights of June. 

Not here, 1 know, is trace of change; 

The years in beauty come and go; 

Yet through the harvest and the snow 
Abides a sense of sad and strange. 
As things long treasured turned to dross 

And rare white flowers grown dark with blight 

Portend the falling of the night, — 
E'en so this weary sense of loss. 

(19) 



But still I dream — If dream It be — 
That all that's best In years agone, — 
The joy and freshness of the dawn, — 

Will one sweet day come back to me; 

For sounding strangely from afar 

A voice I've heard, or dreamed I heard ; — 
"To him who, steadfast, keeps my word, — 

To him I'll give the morning star." 



(20) 



TO A REJECTED ATANUSCRTPT 

Rejected, art thou? So have been thy betters; 

I know, — "not the first, nor the second, rejec- 
tion/' 
Ah, well, slumber now in thy grave of old letters, — 

With prospect but slim for a new resurrection. 

Editors, — men of all sovereign word, 

Who have gained the world's lore and Its bur- 
den have shouhlered, — 
'I heir decree must abide, though as all men have 
heard, 
'TIs Keats who h'ves on, while Croker has 
mouldered. 

It is clear thou art wanting — In what, Is less plain; 

Such clashing prescriptions tend onl\' to worry; 
T believe I like better the chilling refrain, 

"We decline It with thanks;" or "we really are 
sorry." 

" 'TIs a triHe too short." "Just a little too long." 
"In color deficient — as bleak as December." 

"Too erotic, though brilh'ant, — in passion too 
strong." 
"A tamer efifusion we fail to remember." 

(21) 



Poor child of my brain, all heedless thou art 
Of splenetic snarl and kindly suggestion; 

Full calmly thou liest, nor feelest the smart, 
The keenness of which no critic need question. 

But a truce to it all! I care not, — and yet, — 
If Homer e'er nodded, might not the Atlantic? 

Or even the Century chance to forget 

How absurd may appear the ideal and romantic? 

Howe'er that may be, no poorer am I, 

Though never such coveted corner possessing; 

What boots it to one who can read in the sky 
A promise at dawn, and at even, a blessino;? 



(22) 



THE STARS OF GOD 
Daniel 12:3 

Little one, they shine forever, — 
Points of beauty, glints of Hjj;ht; 

All the stars shine forever, — 

Holy, steadfast, calm antl bright. 

Gaze upon them, little one ; 

Earth is changeful, passion-torn; 
S\\ ayeii by nu'ght of sea and sun ; 

Stars are steadfast, eve and morn. 

There's a story, little one; 

Search it out and scorn it never 
Those it tells of, duty done. 

As the stars shall shine forever. 



(23) 



A TRAVELLER'S TALE 

In the sunflecked depths of a summer wood, 
Whose lordly oaks had for centuries stood, 
Where the time glides sweetly mid flower and song, 
And the longest day is none too long, — 
Were fair-haired children at gleeful play; 
Of gentle blood and mien were they. 

A traveller happened along that way, 
Worn and faint with the heat of the day. 
His visage was gaunt and strange to see. 
On the mossy root of a spreading tree 
He sat to rest on that summer day. 

He sat him down with a heavy sigh. 
For the look of woe in his sunken eye 
The merriest passer-by would stay. 
The children forsook their various play, 
And questioning who and whence was he, 
Gathered around him wonderingly. 

"Traveller strange," spake a noble boy, 

In whose eyes compassion shadowed joy, 

"Thou seem'st to have come from far away, 

For thou art worn and faint with the heat of the 

day; 
And thy form is bowed, and thy step is slow, 
And thine eyes are filled with a heavy woe: 
Tell us, we pray thee, why this is so." 

(24) 



The traveller wearily raised his head 
And looked around on the circle fair; 
"IVIy children," in broken voice he said, 
"My burden of sorrow you may not share; 
My story would fill your souls with dread, 
And leave no place for gladness there." 

"Nay, good sir, but thy tale we would hear; 

Perchance we could speak thee a word of cheer." 

"Ah, young sir," the traveller cries, 

'Its meaning dark you could not surmise. 

^'et it may serve some purpose wise: 

f.isten, then, to my story drear. 

" 'Twas the closing hour of a winter's day; 
The hilltops shone with the sun's last ray; 
From the village hushed in twilight gloom 
I climbed the hill through the withered broom ; 
From the summit red in the parting ray 
I could look abroad on my childhood's home. 

"I had wandered long and wandered far, 
'Neath southern skies and polar star; 
Through many a land, o'er many a sea, 
I had wandered long and wearily. 
No virtue had those wasted years 
To heal my soul or quell my fears. 

(25) 



I 

"From the summit I viewed with eager ^nze 

The scene I had loved in other days; 

The low red house with the poplars tall, j 

And the wood behind like a shadowy wall : I 

From the hill through the grove to the farm-house j 

door 
The pathway ran as in days of yore. ; 

"Across from the wood fell the sunset's glow ; \ 

I gazed, and gazed, but my heart beat slow; 

1 wondered the house seemed so dark and chill; ' 

I wondered that all was so utterly still; — | 

A-down the path I had started to go. 

When a touch on my arm arrested my will, I 

"An ancient man by my side there stood ; 

His eye was wild, but his mien was good; I 

His face was white, his hair was gray, ' 

His dress was that of another day: 

A venerable man it seemed was he, ^ 

Yet T liked not the gaze that he bent on me. \ 

i 
" 'Venerable sir,' I ventured to say, 

'Hinder me not on my homeward way; 

Through many a land, for many a year 

Fve roamed with a single thought to cheer, — 

The thought of home. No longer, I pray, I 

Deny me the bliss of a welcome dear.' > 

(26) 



'''Thai tliy liomc? thnu art surely wrnnp:; 
(A piping voice, like a mermaid's soni^.) 
'None ever lived in yon dark place 
But I have known them, face to face.' 
And he laughed a shrill and eldritch laugh, 
And leaned his chin on his oaken staff. 

"A venerable man he seemed to be; 

^'et I liked not the gaze that he fixed on me; — 

Deep, deep through my soul he gazed, 

Till mine eyes were seared and my brain was dazed. 

Ah, how chill was the circling air. 

As it whistled and sighed through his long gray hair! 

" 'Ancient man,' I cried at last. 

As the night-shades gathered thick and fast, 

'Thou knowest my home is waiting for me; 

Its i()\- and its comfort I soon shall see; 

1 yet shall know a mother's caress, 

And a father's hand my brow shall press!' 

"Then whiter and sharper grew his face ; 

Of good from his visage fled every trace ; 

He raised his head from his oaken staff, 

And he laughed again that fearful laugh ; 

'Go! I'll Insure you a welcome there!' 

And the night-wind played In his long gray hair. 

(27) 



"From the clouds above as they wamlcred wide, 
P>om the woods afar as they tossed and sighed, 
From the naked grove, and the poplars slim. 
From the low red house with its outline dim, — 
There came that laugh and those words of woe,— 
'Come, — and a welcome you'll surely know!' 

"From that cursed place I turned and fled ; 
Hut my brow was cold and my heart was dead ;— 
To the uttermost part of the earth I fled. 
And now 'tis years since that winter's day, — 
Hut my life is steeped in its twilight gray: 
From the pale, pale east to the dying west, 
I find no place where my head may rest." 

The traveller strange from distant lands 
Huried his face in his spectral hands: 
'Fhe children beheld with blanchrd cheek, 
But no word of cheer could the boldest speak ; 
Yet their eyes shone strange with a ('eeper light, 
And homes were fairer and dearer that night. 



(28) 



A RKMIMSCENCK 

Fair of form and sweet of face, 
A marvel of unstudied G:race; 
A child with noui^ht of dark alloy,— 
Pure tenderness and faith and joy! 

A picture hri'^ht with fairest hue, — 
All white and '^old and tender hlue,— 
Heamini^ liizht athwart the j^loom 
Of some lonir-forsaken room; 
A tropic hird with shinin'^ w in;j — 
A radiant, a heauteous thin<z! — 
( ilancinp: through the mist and ram, 
'Hirou^zh the city's dole and stain ; 
A flower that breathes thro' prison cell 
The j^ladness of its native dell ; 
A merry-peal in !j; Christmas chime. 
Peace speak injj; in a darksome time ; — 
(^f these and fairer things I dreamed, 
When, one sad day, what truly seemed 
A child with nought of dark alloy 
Filled all my soul with hope and joy! 



(29) 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS 

"O Lucifer, son of the morning!" 

Never so far away as to-night, — 

The heaven of God, to my fruitless calls! 
Towering away to their measureless height. 

Sheer and black are the titan walls. 

Spirit of mine, thou breath of God, 
Sovereign lord of suns and stars! 

Silent now, like a tired bird 

That beats no more its prison bars. 

Spirit of mine, thou breath of God! 

Prone for aye in the black abyss! 
Eyries ever to go untrod, — 

Stars forgot, for such depths as this? 

"Pleasure," moancst thou, spirit of mine? 

"Recompense," — for a heaven lost? 
Pleasure is sweet where a brain is fine, 

But O with thyself, thyself the cost! 

Surely it fades from thee, spirit of mine; 

Slowly it passeth, — the beauty of morn. 
Beauty, thine idol ! spirit of mine. 

The beauty thou lovest of heaven is born. 

(30) 



MKTAMORPHOSIS 

By li^ht most holy encircled, enshrined, — 

A face I saw when the skies were dark. 

On temple and brow was the ;zlory fair, 

And the eyes were sweet with the spirit of prayer ;- 

'Twas on a day when the skies were dark. 

() why on my ^a/.e did the ;^l()ry pale, 
That somber day when the skies were dark.' 
'I'hcre's pallor of death and downcast eyes, 
When beauty of soul from the bosom flies; — 
While winds are wailing and skies are dark. 



(31) 



STRANOi: KIRK 

() whitr younc: face with tlu- Inirnin- eyes! 

Such Inirnirvj; eyes for so youii^ a face! 
'Tis a strange new fire that trembles and si-^hs 

As It sways the sh'pht form of exquisite ;zrace. 
/ make it intenser? Couhl I purchase surcease,— 

The fell ardor assua-e by the aiip^uish of years, 
And brinjz to those eyes the calm starlijzht of peace 
For the ^low of the fire that blanches -md seres, — 
Then anizuish thr()u;jh years were as bh'ss from the 

skies. 
() fair voun^ face with the burniniz eye>! 



(32) 



D1RG1-: 
Suj^i^cstcil by the Dead March in Saul 

To the tomb, bear him on. 

Tu the tomb; 
To the failure of the tomb; 
T(j the darkness and the ilumbne>s aiul the starkness 

(^f the tomb, — 
To the coKl. coKl, coKl. cold \\hitene>s ot the tomb, 

Hear him on. 

To the tomb, bear him on, 
Throu'^ih the :jloom 
Of the winter's afternoon, 
And the s\virlin;j of the storm. 
Anil the shrieking and the sobbiiiL' ot the storm: 
Throuizh the \\ailin<j; and the moanin;^ and the si;^h- 
ini: "f the storm. 
Hear him (MI. 

To the skies, has he risen. 

To the ijlory of the skies; 
Like an eajjle from its cape, — 
From the dark, dark, dark, dark dungeon of its cape. 

'I'o the music of the skies. 
To the sunlight and the beaut>- and the splendor of 
the skies, 
Has he risen. 

(33) 



LINES 

Suggested by a stormy New ^'ear's Kve. 

Sad is thy parting hour, 

Latest of years ; 
Only are left to thee, 
Darkness and tears. 
Passed is thy beauty, 

Thy ^h)ry, thy nuLzht, — 
Nothing is thine but thy 
C^Irave in the night. 

Waih'ng and weeping thee, 

Winds are and skies; 
WouUl that no sadder voice 

Ever might rise! 
Ah, that rich h'ves should have 

Too like the years. 
Nought at their passing sa\'e 

Darkness and tears! 



(34) 



SPIRITUS 

Softly, as of the spirit worltl, 

Hrcathcs the air of nit2;lit ; 
Hrin<];inp: touch to check and hrow, 

Wondrously h*p;ht ; — 
Softh'cr than in jz;arclens fall 

Red rose leaves and white. 

\\1ience hast thou this sjiirit touch 

Marxelously Iij2;ht? 
Like, so like to that of one 

X'anished from my sip;ht! 
i.on<j; since vanished, — and thou breathest 

Only of the night. 



(35) 



POE IN DEFEAT 

'Tis a waste of words; far better than >'ou, 
I know these things, sweet-hearted friend ; 

I worship their beauty and own them true, 
Of the folly that scorns them, I know the end. 

Ay, those fair heights of which you speak 
Arc brighter far to me than to you ; 

13ut they are for those who have will to seek. 

No, I yield it all, and I go my way 

To my kindred night. For such as you. 

Fair child of an ever brightening day. 

The skyward path of sacred light. 



(36) 



THE APOSTATE'S REVERY 

Brief the respite day-dreams offer, 

Swift-returning darkness brings 
To my shrinking ear the gruesome 

Flapping of uncanny wings, — 
Wings that hover exil-omencd ; 

Through dim panes I just descry 
Gaunt funereal elms and maples 

Tossing to a leaden sky. 

Desolation, desolation ! 

Can it be, () can it be 
Such an one e'er lisped "Our Fatlier" 

At a smiling mother's knee? 
Is it truth, or strange illusion, 

That in dreamful years agone 
This poor heart communed with heaven 

In the holy hush of dawn ? 

Strange the words that haunt and mock me. 

Bowed to-night in spectral gloom ; 
Not a ray athwart the pathway 

Downward leading to the tomb ; — 
Words from old forgotten volume 

Mould'ring on an upper shelf, — 
"Desolate I will not leave you, 

I will take 3'ou to myself." 

(37) 



THE TOAD AT THE EAR 

Wherefore this caretaking, fool that you are? 

One would suppose you had friends to please. 
That if mien or if soul were freer of mar, 

'Twould give somebody pleasure, some scorncr 
appease ; — 
Your name is mentioned in nobody's prayers. 
Nobody thinks of you, nobody cares. 

Do you dream that she knows of it, fool that you 
are, — 

She who is gone and forever and aye? 
Praising her God in some beautiful star 

Thousands of millions of miles away, — 
She cannot know how with you it fares; 
\'ain is your fancy that somebody cares. 

What does it matter which way you take. 

Day after day and night by night? 
There's none now to whisper, "for my sake 

Yield not the struggle — keep face toward the 

light." 

Not a soul under heaven your wistfulness shares; 
Nobody knows of it, — nobody cares. 



(38) 



NOT ALONE 

John 16:32. 

O that I in the dreariest day, 
When sunless and bleak is life's winter, 
With the Master might trustfully say, 
"Not alone, for the Father is with me." 

Though the day may his presence conceal, — 
In the peace-breathing stillness of even, 
The sweet truth of the words may I feel,— 
"Not alone, for the Father is with me." 

And through the dead hours of the night, 
When the h'fe of the world is suspended, 
W^ith the thought may my spirit be bright, — 
"Not alone, for the Father is with me." 

May these words of true courage and cheer 
Be my stay when all other shall fail me; 
Nought in life or in death will I fear, 
While I know that the Father is with me. 



(39) 



O ABSALOM! 

How vain the hoarse counseh'ng, — "Calmness! con- 
trol!" 

When the light from his eyes, like the truth from 
his soul 

And the smile from his lips, has long passed and 
for aye! 

O that love could have saved from this sin-cursed 
day! 

In visions they mock me, — the far sweet years; 
Their hopes are cold ashes, triumphant their 

fears ! — 
Thou art lost, thou art lost to me, — nought can 

atone ! 
Would God I had died for thee, — died for my 

own! 

My own! No escaping, no token of dawn! 
My own! but with purity, tenderness, gone! 
No pity for man and no longing for God ! 
If I could but have died for thee, sweet were the 
sod ! 



(40) 



"IT WAS NIGHT" 

John 13:30. 

Night in the royal city, 

Like a pale and shadowy day; 
The pinnacles white on the Temple height 

Gleam in the ghastly ray. 

Night in the heart of the traitor, 

Wild and starless and drear! 
On his ashen face is never a trace 

Of the joy of a triumph near. 

Mysterious night for the chosen; — 

A portent they cannot know, 
O'er the sacred board and the face of the Lord 

Flings its shadow of woe. 

Night o'er the gentle Master, 

After the wearisome day of care; 

A night of dread ; and the kingly head 
Bows low in mighty prayer. 

'Tis humanity's night of peril ; 

Its hour of deadliest fear; 
But the darkness fled when the Master said, 

"I have conquered ; — be of good cheer." 

(41^ 



PEACE AND DEATH 

Calm and still, calm and still ; 
Never ripple breaks the surface 
Of a life controlled by will ; 
Still and calm and rightly ordered. 

Calm and still, calm and still ; 
Words of doom and words of healing,- 
Words that other spirits fill 
With joy or fear, — awake no ansAver. 

Cold and dead, cold and dead! 
Never marble less responsive! 
Still and cold, for Love has fled ; 
Answers not, for Hope is buried. 



(42) 



"TO HBI THAT OVERCOMETH'^ 

Hattles he manfully, 

Faith to maintain ; 

With foes in the blood 

And foes in the brain, 
Battles he manfully. 



"Ay, but how fruitlessly!" 
Scorns the discreet ; 
And the poor baffled one 
Moans in defeat, — 

"Ay, but how fruitlessly!" 

Rightly ye pity him, 
Bound in the mesh ; 
Evil engendered 
In spirit and flesh ; — 

Rightly ye pity him. 

Sin he contendeth with, — 
Fair to the eyes ; 
Witching the senses 
In sweetest disguise ; — 

Sin he contendeth with. 

(43) 



Pray for him lovingly, — 
Ye in whose breast 
Billows of passion 
Are lulled to their rest;- 

Pray for him lovingly. 

Battles he manfully, — 

God will uphold ; 

And to his heart at last 

God will enfold 
Him who strives manfully 



(44) 



WRITTEN ON A FLY-LEAF OF A 
VOLUME OF PRIOR'S POEMS 

Within at sonic leni^th arc the writinizs of Prior,- 
A courtier, a wit, and a good versifier; 
If further you go and pronounce liim a poet, 
A critic you're not, that opinion would show it. 



(45) 



A HARD ?^IAN 

Metallic his voice, and his eye gray and stony, 
His age is full sixty, his god it is gold ; 

His nerves are of steel and his face lean and bony, 
His hair iron-grav and his heart iron-cold. 



(46) 



SUMiMER REST 

'TIs the time of the year of all seasons the best, 
When our earth Is like unto the realms of the blest ; 
AVhen no evil befalls nor temptations beset 
And the minions of Satan to lure us forget. 
I am dreaming, you think? If 'twere not as I say, 
Would the churches be closed and the preachers 
away ? 

These imperial months are the crest of the year, 
When Innocence gambols with never a fear. 
AVith evil quiescent, what reason, say I, 
For worship in August or prayer in July? 
The dread Prince of Darkness then rests, as he ma\ , 
AVhile the churches arc closed and their pastors 
away. 

No pastor uill hear of such troublesome things 

As "John ^vent to the bad" (while he went to the 

springs). 
How restful to feel through the long, heated spell 
That no effort is needed, that all will be well ! 
Too optimistic, you think? Then \\hat do you say 
To the church that is closed while the preacher's 



(47) 



THE JOCKEY'S FUNERAL 

As a child's his form is slim; — 
Shrunken limbs and weazen face; 
To his last, low resting place 
A single arm may carry him. 

He was neither great nor wise; — 
Finished now liis race of life ; 
Finished all the eager strife ; 
He has failed to win the prize. 

Careless hands bear out the bier; 
Careless eyes behold the dead ; 
Perchance a careless word is said, — 
Half a sigh and half a sneer. 

Blame him not ; he lies so low ! 
One long winter spanned his days; 
As to its sky his ej'es he'd raise. 
Who his inmost soul could know? 

As on him falls the final clod, 
Gentle words of Christ proclaim: 
"To seek and save the lost I came:" 
And leave to silence and to God. 



(48) 



THE MISSING REPORTER 

"What has become of Americus Lowndes, 

The young fellow from one of the down-river 

towns?" 
"We had to discharge him. Good fellow, was 

Lowndes ; 
Steady, hard-working; no patience with clowns, 
Though courteous always. The jokes or the 

frowns 
Of the little great men he met on his rounds 
Never could rile him ; he kept within bounds. 
But one night he wrote up a soiree at McPound's, — 
Stunning affair, — and — believe it of Lowndes? — 
Wrote 'ladies' for 'women' and 'dresses' for 

'irowns'!" 



(49) 



AFTER LIFE'S FEVER 

Bravely he struggled, with little of cheering, — 
Steadfast and strenuous, as the years passed ; 

Planning and toiling and hoping and fearing, — 
Now he is resting, — resting at last. 

Sensitive spirit that shrank from reviling, 

Past are thy hearthurnings, vanished thy fears; — 

Now he is resting, ay, he is smiling, — 
As I have not seen him smiling in years. 

Fierce was the pressure, O hrain that was weary! 

Heavy the burden, O heart that was sore! 
But now in thy sleep there is nought of the dreary. 

But taking of rest, and peace evermore. 

Nothing of dread, now, — nought of molesting; — 
Hushed is the storm and spent is the blast. — 

Now he is sweetly, peacefully resting, — 
Calmly, eternally, resting at last. 



(50) 



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